Author
Topic: Artillery & Gunsmoke. (Read 371 times)

*Droplets of rain hammered the HMS Dreadnought rattled with incoming fire, shells falling short and the guns ripping rounds into the stationary island of France. She looked at the sea for so long brought her back to the era of piracy, though the world had changed drastically. She remembered swimming in these waters 300 years prior to this, remembering the chill of the sea... the explosive cannon fire... the burning sails. Florence looked up from staring at the sea for so long, and turned her head to one of the soldiers on her right.*

"What?"

"I was asking what you were doing here. You're a fucking woman. This is a place for men."

"Oh. I'm in the Medical Corps. They started drafting women to the front in 1915 for mostly non-combatant roles."

*She noted to him, activating a mere discipline to tell him to go fuck off and tell his mates the same thing.*

"Right. Don't get your tits shot off."

"Yeah, right."

*The soldier swiftly disappeared onto another part of the ship, as she took another small puff from her cigarette. She turned her head back to the group of soldiers who could not stop ogling the Toreador. Florence, being more of a rebellious sort in the Great War lifted up her skirt slightly and shown her ankle, proving her disobedience and her overall 'fuck you' to the appropriations of women in the times, which had the men flustering for days.. but was easily replaced by an ignorant 2nd Lieutenant heading over to her to swoon her.*

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

*He asked, rather ignorantly.*

"What do you mean?"

*She replied.*

"Why are you here..."

*The Lieutenant noted, looking down at the small nametag on her uniform which prompted Florence to glare at the nametag as well, thinking he was making a pass but realising he was just noting her uniform name.*

"Rackham. This place is a place for men, and such a beautiful woman here in this place would be abysmal."

*She tossed her cigarette overboard after sighing through her teeth, turning to look at him with a rather annoyed glare, digging out a small photograph for him to peruse on, pointing at the female in the back.*

Spoiler for Hidden:

"This is me in the back, October 1st 1915. Women can serve as much as men can. You know that, right? I've been here since 1915. This is July 1916. I can only assume you're just straight out of the academy or something, sir."

*Their conversation was swiftly cut off with shell after shell ripping through the hull of the ship by a field gun on land, piercing the iron cast ship and causing a major fire upon the ship. This was her time to snap out of this dreamy escape in her mind and get to work. She was sent to this war for one reason and one reason only: Decimate the werewolves fighting in the war and collaborate with the vampires to end mortals murdering each other. It seemed like such a simple task. But it was nothing of the sort. A Toreador being sent to war was something very strange indeed. Toreadors are not fighting people - they resort to swooning sailors coming home, not murdering them in a mud filled trench. She acted fast, stealing the 2nd Lieutenant's sword as he laid on the ground and handgun, before making a jump for sea. She hit the water stomach first which made her wretch with agony before she began the half mile swim for land. The advantages of a vampire meant that she didn't necessarily have to suffer from drowning as much, but she made it eventually. She spat out whatever water resided in her mouth and lungs and made her way inland to the coastal towns, before hitching a ride from Calais to The Somme... to participate in Bataille de la Somme,, an inconclusive battle in the end. A battle that lasted three months before the British and French forces had to make their retreat further into France after a hard fought loss.*

*The driver noticed the woman getting onto the back after loading man after man onto the back of the troop transport, eventually putting his hand on her chest to stop her from getting on.*

"Where are you going."

"The Somme."

"No you're fucking not."

"Yes I fucking am."

*She noted for the final time before entrancing the driver to allow her on. She sat right on the edge of the cramped seating area after a kid, must've been 16 or 17 years old let her sit down and for him to take her place stood up, holding on the rails above. The drive must've taken all but 35 minutes before the sounds of gunfire neared more and more... and the smell.*

"What is that smell?"

"Bodies. Burning bodies."

"It's fucking disgusting."

"Yeah mate, it fucking is."

"When I get there, I'm getting me a medal."

"No you aren't."

"A fuckin 'am!"

*The banter between the soldiers quickly ended as the 16 year old who happily let her sit down took a direct bullet right in the neck and made him fall off the back, into the mud. The wheels revved to get out of the bogged down dirt and swiftly coated him in wet earth, concealing him from view. He was still alive, the mud being so thick and viscous restricted his movement, as if he was caught in a spider's web.*

"Are we not stopping for him?"

"Are we fuck. Let's keep going. He made his choice."

"That's your fault, harlot."

"Fucking whore. Should've left you stood up."*The men slung abuse at Florence who continued looking around frantically as they approached the long, thin trenches that was the signature of the First World War. As soon as they reached a safe enough place to disembark, she was the first one off. She had never seen anything like it. It was horror. Bodies burning in piles by the roadside, wounded kids who got past conscription and made their way to the front with thoughts of glory and heroism to be stuck in this hellhole. The Somme, in a way, became one of the bloodiest british battles in history. A lover, stuck in such a horrible conflict was something to marvel at. There were no trees. Just small stumps of broken branches stuck in the ground. From where you were stood you could just see fog, until you took a few steps for your mind to render what was actually in front of you.*